Catching Fire
by ThePossibilityOfMagic
Summary: He had provided the spark, but it was she that would set them aflame.


_Happy Castle-versary everyone! To commemorate this momentous occasion, I give to you my first ever M-rated Castle fic._

_Though it's been requested a few times, I wasn't exactly intending to ever write one, but this kind of just... happened. Writing it was certainly different to what I'm used to, but I hope it turned out okay all the same._

_So, here it is. Enjoy._

_Disclaimer: I think if the true owners of Castle ever did this, they would probably be brought up on mass murder charges or something._

_PS- to any of my RL friends who by any very slight chance could be reading this right now, please stop. Seriously, if you ever want me to be able to look you in the eye ever again, stop __now__._

* * *

><p>Rick Castle lounged on his couch, his laptop open in his lap, his fingers resting lightly on the keyboard as he gazed at the screen.<p>

To an outside observer, he could have easily been proofreading, or silently contemplating his next sentence, except he wasn't. Instead, he was wallowing in loneliness; Alexis was at Stanford, on the same side of the country as his mother, who had flown to LA to meet with some old friend who was interested in opening up another branch of her school there– the Martha Rodgers School Of Arts had been an instant success, much to everyone's surprise, and was expanding rapidly– and so, for the second week in a row, Castle had the loft all to himself.

He wished he could call Beckett. She'd been around more often in the past few months, at first because he'd asked her to– he'd noticed long ago that basic things like feeding herself seemed to go forgotten in her mission to catch practically every killer in Manhattan– so he'd taken to forcing her to come for dinner at least once each week, and had even dropped meals to her place a couple times a week as well, just to ensure that she would at least get a few decent meals to balance out the high-convenience, low-effort diet of takeout and microwave meals that she seemed to exist on.

After a while, however, their dinners became more frequent, their arrangement beginning to turn into habit, as if she'd simply become accustomed to the new pattern of closeness and hadn't even considered cutting it back to how they'd been.

It was that closeness that he longed for now; the long, easy talks over a glass of wine, the occasional movie, or even sharing a couch as they just sat there, he with his laptop and she with whatever new book she was reading at the time.

But tonight, there would be no talks, no movies or couch-sharing reading sessions.

He'd suggested it, of course– as he often did, except for those low days when the fear of scaring her away held him back, or those amazing days where it was she that suggested it first– but she'd apparently already had plans, and he'd accepted that. He definitely _hadn't_ spent the rest of the day torn between jealousy and despair, wondering if she could have possibly met someone and why she hadn't told him, and whether Ryan and Esposito would arrest him or help him get away with it if he were to track down and murder the guy.

In his darker moments, he'd begun to wonder if maybe he'd been misinterpreting all the signals, whether the casual touches and lingering looks that were now an accepted part of his and Beckett's relationship had been simply a product of his imagination, something completely innocent and meaningless that he had simply built up in his head.

But he'd dismissed those thoughts soon enough; there were some things that couldn't have been simply imagination. Like in the break room the week before, as they'd stood side by side in front of the coffee machine, she'd stepped over to get the sugar– but instead of walking around him to reach it, or even asking him to pass it, she'd squeezed past him, her back brushing against his chest and her cherry scent filling his head as she'd slipped through the narrow gap between his body and the counter. Then, all ease and nonchalance, she'd simply sipped at her coffee as if nothing at all were amiss– but the sparkle in her eye as she took in his frozen form was enough to give her away, effectively convincing him that what she'd just done was not in the least bit accidental.

Still, correctly interpreted signals or not, the fact remained that Beckett had her own plans for this evening, and as such his own would be one comprising of solitude, quietness, and sub-zero levels of productivity.

He was just contemplating rereading Heat Rises for what must be the zillionth time– seeing Nikki and Rook together always made him feel less lonely– when there was a brief knock at the door, the sound echoing eerily in his empty apartment.

Confused– surely Beckett would have called if her plans had changed?– Castle pushed himself off the couch and wandered to the door, wondering who this mystery visitor could possibly be.

Checking the peephole first, he felt his face split into a broad, elated grin, then quickly fumbled with the lock before half-yanking the door open.

"Beckett," he said happily, not caring that his voice was most likely embarrassingly delighted.

She didn't seem to mind. "Hey, Castle."

Gesturing for her to come in, he closed the door, then turned to follow her to the lounge room, where she was already standing, watching him with unreadable eyes.

"What's up? I thought you had plans."

Tilting her head slightly, Beckett simply gave him a small, cryptic smile.

"I did."

His brow furrowing slightly in confusion, Castle prompted, "So what happened? They fall through?"

The cryptic smile widened, her head giving a small shake. "No."

"Huh? I don't understand–"

Beckett stepped a little closer, her eyes on his, her voice casual, unhurried.

"Well, you seemed to be a little slow in getting the message, so I thought I'd speed things up."

"What do you..." he began, but trailed off as she began to tug at the belt securing her coat, the knot slowly sliding free. Unintentionally, his eyes fell to the widening gap just above her chest, and he watched, eyes wide, as more silky skin was uncovered, then more, then...

Then she allowed the coat to fall open– and so did his mouth.

"Oh my god, Kate–" he stammered, trying vainly to avert eyes that seemed locked in place, "What– what are you doing?"

Standing calmly before him, with the gaping front of her coat revealing miles of bare skin and sensuous curves interrupted only by the tiny scrap of black lace that could scarcely pass for panties– she simply gave him a small, wicked smile, then stepped in close, her lips bare centimeters from his as she answered, her voice low and dangerously seductive.

"What I want."

Before he even had time to react, her hands were on him, palms sliding up his chest to curl her arms around his neck, every curve of her body pressed hard against him.

Stunned, he barely had the chance to suck in a startled breath before her mouth was covering his, hot and wet and hungry, her kiss burning with fiery intensity and fierce, unrestrained need.

His response was immediate and instinctive; abandoning all thought, he simply wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back hard, his mouth slanting over hers, responding with a fervor that easily matched her own. Reflexively, she pressed closer, her fingers tightening around his nape, fingernails pressing into his skin as she hummed deep in her throat, the sound a combination of approval and challenge.

Caught up in the frenzy of passion and need, Castle met fire with fire, his lips moving over hers with an intensity that almost bordered on desperation. Beckett gave as good as she got– and more, _god so much more_– her kiss so scorching that he was certain that any hotter would burn him alive.

Eventually, he felt her begin to draw away, his brain forming an ardent protest that somehow translated into an inarticulate groan, a low sound of denial and dismay accompanied by the instinctive tightening of his arms around her, practically crushing her against his chest in his refusal to let her go.

He felt her soft laugh feather against his lips, the sultry sound sending another flare of heat through his already blazing body. But rather than pulling away– as he'd feared– she simply lifted on her toes, cradling the hard bulge of his erection within the juncture of her thighs, effectively paralyzing him as every muscle in his body instantly froze, his breath trapped in lungs that no longer remembered how to function.

Clearly well aware of the effect she was having, Beckett gave another small, breathy laugh, then caught his lower lip between hers, nipping him gently in a brief, teasing kiss.

"Castle," she purred into his mouth, one hand sliding up to rake lightly through his hair, her nails trailing deliciously over his scalp while the other hand slipped downward, snaking between them to clench around the soft fabric of his shirt. Giving it a small, firm tug, she continued huskily, "Your clothes are still on. You might wanna rectify that."

Panting, stunned, and completely aroused, Castle just scarcely managed to fight through the haze of lust surrounding him, gasping out, "I– Kate– wait..."

"No," she said firmly, cutting him off. "I've had enough of waiting. What is it, Castle? Three and a half years of foreplay not enough for you?"

He didn't even have a chance to formulate a coherent response before suddenly her hand was moving, releasing his shirt to move purposefully southward, her fingers trailing down his abdomen before slipping deftly beneath the waistband of his sweats.

Instantly he was frozen, his breath stuck somewhere in his paralyzed lungs. He felt her smile wickedly against his mouth, her fingernails scraping lightly against the skin just below his stomach before moving lower, lower… and then the next thing he knew she was taking him in her hand, her long, delicate fingers squeezing and stroking, and he was dying, dying, no hope, no chance of survival.

The moan that escaped his throat was rough, primal; he was lost now, and there was no going back. One hand lifted to fist in her hair, dragging her lips back to his, taking her mouth with a ferocity that would have shocked him had he still been capable of reasoned thought. Her response was scorching, her tongue delving eagerly inside his mouth, her deft fingers mimicking each stroke.

Growling into her mouth, he freed his hands to grasp his shirt, their lips parting just long enough for him to yank it over his head, tossing it to the floor as their mouths fused once more, tongues caressing and conquering, tasting and taking, both of them losing themselves to the flames.

Her fingers tightening around him, she took control, walking him backwards to the couch and giving him a final, almost playful squeeze before pushing him down onto the cushions. Bending over him, she hooked her fingers in his waistband, and he lifted his hips, watching her silently as she slid both the sweats and boxers down his legs, carelessly dropping them to the floor.

Then, standing above him, she simply eyed him for a moment– eyes dark and dangerous, slowly running her gaze from head to toe– before she gave a delicate shrug, sending her coat sliding from her shoulders, slipping to the floor with a muted whisper of cloth.

His throat closed, his every muscle tensing as he stared at her– at _all _of her. She simply stood before him, watching him, waiting, allowing him to take her in, to let his eyes travel over every inch of skin just as she had done to him. Then, she silently reached out, her hands closing around his, and gently tugged him forward, bringing his hands to rest at her hips.

He didn't need to be told twice. Hooking his thumbs through either side of the tiny panties, he slowly slid them down her thighs, over her calf-high boots, leaving her to step out of them as she moved forward, bracing herself on one knee beside him. Then, in one smooth, effortless move, she was straddling him, her hands resting on his shoulders as she stared down at him. A single beat passed, a brief moment of silent communication before she shifted slightly, lowering herself onto him, her nails digging into his shoulders as he filled her, her head tipping back with a moan.

Castle stifled his own moan against her breasts, feeling her tighten around him, her wet heat surrounding him, setting his body aflame. Gripping her hips, he pulled her harder against him, allowing her to set the rhythm, somehow knowing instinctively exactly how she wanted it, and how to give it to her.

Her head fell forward, her hair falling around his face in a dark curtain as her hands slid up to clutch at the back of his head, her body moving against him with a delicious friction, the two of them instantly in sync as they rocked together, all fire and lightning and heat.

As the pressure began its slow build, her hands fisted in his hair, dragging his face up to meet hers, her mouth claiming his in a fierce, possessive kiss. Breaking away again, she arched her back, her hair streaming down behind her as she allowed her head to fall back, a throaty moan escaping her lips.

Taking advantage of the exposed flesh, Castle closed his mouth over the sensitive skin of her neck, making her shudder as his teeth scraped her skin. Her response was hot, immediate; rolling her hips against him, she arched still further, her hands clutching tighter in his hair, using her grip to push him down, down.

He needed no further encouragement; ceasing his assault on her neck, his mouth slid downward, leaving a trail of hot kisses over her collarbone and down to her breast before closing around her nipple. The gentle pressure of his teeth had her shuddering against him, her breath escaping in shallow pants as he flicked his tongue against the hardened nub, licking and sucking and teasing, torturing her just as she had tortured him.

Seconds and minutes melted away, their mouths meeting and then parting again, their hands roaming in exploration and assertion as they laid their claim to one another, an unspoken but unbreakable promise.

Faster then slower then faster again they moved, consumed in each other's fire, the pressure becoming almost unbearable as she moved against him, harder, faster, driven by a need so intense it bordered on desperation. Breath came in short, shallow pants; skin was slick with sweat; moans and gasps and cries escaped from throats half-constricted with desire and need.

And then finally, just as he felt his own release approaching fast, he felt her contract around him so tight it was almost painful, goosebumps rippling across her flesh as her body jerked and writhed against him, taking him to a level he'd never known, one that was torn somewhere between torture and nirvana, pulling him along with her.

He bucked beneath her, both of them beyond conscious control as they reached the peak, both of them topping the summit at the same time. As the pressure finally became too much and broke free, she was there with him, her back arching as she cried out, a single word tearing from her lips.

"_Castle!"_

_###_

"_Castle!"_

Beckett watched as Castle jolted upright at her call, his eyes wide and dark and utterly bewildered as his gaze skittered around the dimly-lit bullpen, clearly fighting to get his bearings.

After a moment, his startled eyes fixed upon her, and she saw them grow even wider, his expression turning from confusion to panic in a millisecond.

"I – what was I–"

"You were moaning," she said in a low voice, her words hushed, quiet, despite the fact that they were in no danger of being overheard; it was past midnight, and the precinct was deserted. She'd tried to make Castle leave hours ago, but he'd insisted on staying with her until all of her long-neglected paperwork was done. Which had been kind of nice, actually, having that peaceful, steadying presence beside her without any of his usual forms of distraction– that was, until the last fifteen minutes, when he had slipped into sleep and found an entirely new way to distract her.

Now, he was certainly wide awake, his expression caught somewhere between panic and horror as he processed her words. Pushing her chair back slightly from her desk, she raised an eyebrow just a fraction, watching him as his mouth opened and closed wordlessly, his Adam's apple working furiously in his throat as he swallowed hard.

After another moment of silence, she leaned back in her chair, lacing her fingers behind her head as she fought to hold back a small, devilish smile.

"So, come on, tell me. What was I wearing?"

His face blanched and she very nearly laughed aloud, only just barely managing to keep the poker face in place as she continued, her voice casual, nonchalant, as if she were talking about the weather or the stock market rather than enquiring about her starring role in his erotic dreams.

"Let me guess– something tight, black, and made of leather, right? Or maybe a skankified version of my dress uniform? It better not have been a maid's outfit or naughty nurse, Castle, because honestly I'd like to think you're a little more creative than that."

Castle gaped at her. "I wasn't– oh God, no, it wasn't like that–"

"No?" Beckett asked archly, her eyes locked with his. She could read those eyes as easily as a pop-up picture book– after all, after three and a half years of learning their every look and expression, she could spot lies or evasion a mile away. Eventually, she'd learned to spot other things, too– like affection, attraction, desire… and love. In the past few months she'd been seeing each of those much more often, especially during their quiet evenings spending time at his loft, or even here at the precinct, as she'd allowed a lingering touch here or a complete disregard of personal space there, steadily narrowing that gap– both physical and emotional– that remained between them.

Now, eyeing him thoughtfully as he continued to struggle for words, she decided it was past time they closed that gap altogether.

Slowly rising to her feet, she covered the space between her chair and his in two measured, even steps. Then, in a single, slow, smooth movement, she straddled him, lowering herself so she rested squarely in his lap, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders. Allowing her weight to settle against the hard bulge of his crotch, she shifted slightly, watching his stunned expression instantly change into one of shock and arousal at the deliciously torturous friction created by the tiny movement.

"No?" she repeated huskily, her eyes fixing on his mouth, which was still slightly open with shock.

"I– Oh, God, uh–"

Leaning in, Beckett placed her lips close to his ear, feeling his own breath coming in short pants against her neck, the sensation driving her absolutely crazy.

God, she was hot for him; her whole body was currently proving that fact to her, setting her on fire in a way that made her want to scream. She wanted him– just as she'd _always_ wanted him, her attraction to him growing with ever-increasing intensity as the weeks, months, and years had gone by; but now, after having just sat there for a good ten minutes listening to the man having a dream that sounded like it easily outstripped the hottest dream that _she'd_ ever had– incidentally, one that had actually involved him– she wanted him so fiercely it hurt.

"Do you have any idea," she half-whispered, her voice low and sultry and rough, "How incredibly _hot_ it is to hear you moan my name?"

"Oh, Jesus, Kate–"

"What was I wearing, Castle?" she breathed, catching his earlobe in her teeth and biting down gently.

"Trenchcoat– panties and boots– nothing else," Castle gasped, his hands tightening on her hips– where at some point they had come to rest, gripping her in a way that was both desperate and hesitant, afraid to hold on but even more terrified of letting go.

Until that moment she'd been moving against him ever so slightly– the tantalizing friction teasing herself as much as him– but at his words she suddenly stopped, leaning back slightly to look down at him, one eyebrow raised just a fraction.

"Hm," she responded casually, her tone one of mild contemplation, as if he'd just spun a reasonably interesting theory which held potential, but was brought down by a minor flaw. Lifting her hands from his shoulders, she wrapped them around his wrists, pulling herself free as she stood.

Stepping back, she turned away from him, then gathered her things, slinging her coat over one arm as she took a step in the direction of the elevator. Behind her, she heard Castle make a small noise of protest, having clearly only just managed to shake off his shock at her abrupt departure.

"Kate, wait– I'm sorry, please–"

Beckett turned, interrupting him. "You coming, or you planning on sitting here by yourself all night?"

Instantly he was on his feet, taking a nervous half-step in her direction, his eyes focused intensely upon her.

"Kate, what– I don't understand. What are you–"

"I'm doing what I should have done a long time ago, Castle," she answered simply, meeting his eyes squarely. She'd spent enough time on clues and signals, enough time waiting for him to take the hint and make a move.

Her lips curving into a slow, wicked smile, she sent him a signal he couldn't possibly mistake.

"I'm going to make all your dreams come true."

* * *

><p><em>Well, there you have it, my first (and likely only) M-rated Caskett fic. So yeah, let's<em>_ all __just pretend that that wasn't quite likely rather OOC, and that dream wasn't way too detailed to actually be believable as a dream, yeah? Sounds like a good plan to me haha. __But nevertheless, I hope you all enjoyed it, and please remember, suggestions and constructive criticisms are always totally welcome._

_Just a few tunes I relate to this story:_

_– Set The Fire To The Third Bar by Snow Patrol [Castle home alone]_

_– God We Look Good Going Down In Flames by The Exies [love scene]_

_– Trial By Fire by Fred [ending]_

_Anyhow, as always, thanks for reading!_


End file.
